Of Spiderzillas and Warmth Without Fire
by SpiritBearr
Summary: They've been lost, stranded, injured, trapped and exhausted together before. Many times. But this is, perhaps, just a little unique. Okay, maybe more then a little.-COMPLETE!-
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Of Spiderzillas and Warmth Without Fire**

**Rating: PG, PG-13 to be safe maybe? **

**Summary: They've been lost, stranded, injured, trapped and exhausted together before. Many times. But this is, perhaps, just a little unique. Okay, maybe more then a little.**

**Disclaimers: Star Trek is, sadly, not mine. Neither is the 'three brains' comment, as I've heard it many times but agree with it. **

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Someone- for the life of me I can't remember who, maybe even Jim himself- once said that our Captain's got the advantage of three brains instead of just one. I hadn't realized until I heard that comment just how at-the-hip Spock, Jim and I tend to be; if he leaves taking one of us and not the other, the reaction is usually surprise, and indignant annoyance. He doesn't usually do that; if he beams down, it's usually with me- as his CMO it only makes sense- and Spock. Who is his First Officer and also his Science Officer, so that makes sense, too.

Still, it means I get to spend extended periods of time in what are not always the best of conditions with the fairy-eared faux polite half Vulcan gnat.

Like _now_, for instance.

I am curled in a shallow natural cave, near the back of it. My back is pressed against rough, damp stone; it's slimy and cold, but better then lying flat, like Jim is doing. He's probably getting Lord-only-knows what kind of alien parasites in his hair and on his skin. He doesn't seem to care, though, hands tucked behind his head and eyes closed, laying close to our make-shift fire. His shirt is gone, long since destroyed by the bugs that had been chasing us earlier; the scraps of it had been used to fuel said heat source. His wounds are relatively minor; he'll live to throw himself headlong into danger another day.

Outside, it is pouring rain as it has been since we came to this forsaken planet to study it. What we found was the remains of the last humans who wanted to _study_ this place and very large, very hungry insect-like men. Their entire body was arachnid in nature, but they walked on two legs like men and spoke Standard well enough, if with heavy accents.

All they seemed to care about saying was _do not bother running, _and _your deaths shall be painless_, so really, we weren't all that keen on having long conversations with them anyway.

Luckily, while they were fast and amazingly intelligent, they were lacking in certain senses, and seemed to loath the rain that was a near-constant. I think those were the only two things that saved us, and I wonder what happens when the storm, at last, stops.

I wonder if I _really_ want to know.

He is sitting a little closer to the entrance, perched on a rock just outside of the water's range. Like the spiderzillas seem to, Spock has always had an almost cat-like distaste for water, swimming, rain, snow, and generally all things wet and damp. He's desert-bred, though, he and all his people, so it doesn't much surprise me. Oh, he _can_ swim- for one I've seen him, and for two I know he never would have been allowed out of the Academy without learning how- but damn if he had a tail it would be lashing at times like this.

Stubborn idiot is probably freezing his Vulcan bones off right now, too. He won't come nearer the fire and _I'm_ cold, sitting this close to it. His body tempter is naturally three or four degrees lower then our own. (It's another trait inherited from coming, at least half of him, from a people raised in a desert climate.) Cold blooded like a snake. So many nasty little places I could go with that, but even I'm not that mean.

Though when I call him a _cold blooded bastard_ I can mean it literally.

"Spock, get over here." I hear myself say. "You're going to catch hypothermia and die."

He glances over at me, and yep, there goes that damn eyebrow. Those eyebrows should have their own dictionary. Eyebrow to Standard Translators should be worn at all times around him.

"I highly doubt, Doctor, that it is cold enough for an onset of hypothermia. Nor is it possible to experience it without a wide variety of symptoms. And I have full confidence that you would be aware of my condition long before death became an immediate threat."

"It's a figure of speech, Spock, and you know it." Jim groans from the ground, not once opening his eyes. He sounds amused and tired. "And was that a complement?"

Spock gives that slow blink he does when something one of us that always makes me think he must be thinking _these people are all hopeless_. "Merely an acknowledgement of Doctor McCoy's abilities, Captain."

As close to a complement as I'm ever going to get from him, he means. "Either way, it's pointless for you to be over there when the fire is over here. Glaring at it isn't going to make the rain stop."

"I'm aware-"

"_Don't_." I make a slicing motion with the side of my hand before he can get going. He stops, surprised as he ever gets- he's not used to being interrupted and he doesn't care for it. Tough noogies. "If the word 'illogical' leaves your mouth-"

"Gentlemen." Jim's gentle reproof from the cave floor cuts me off. "I'd rather get back to the_ Enterprise _with all of us in one piece." Still hasn't opened his eyes. He's used to this by now. Although frankly, I don't remember a time when Jim was ever concerned at the sight of us at each other's throats; I think he realized the affection behind our sparring before we ever did.

Still, he knows when 'affectionate bickering' and 'annoyed snarling' change places. There is no affection in the words I'd bitten out, and no affection in anything I'd planed to say afterwards. Which is, really, not fair of me- he hasn't done anything (yet, whispers a snarky voice in the back of my mind) to earn my anger. But I am trapped on a rainy, cold planet that is not my own, being hunted by spiderzillas, in a wet, damp cave, with no way back to the ship and not half of what I need in an emergency. I'm stuck in here with two men just as tense as I am, tired, wounded, afraid, and at the end of our wits. I have no temper left for literal half Vulcans and calm, low voiced scoldings about my irrational human impulses or whatever other bug might bite his rear.

Sometimes that's what gets me more then anything, how _calm_ he nearly always is.

"You'd better hope this lets up soon, then." I mutter. "Without communicators we can't beam back up, and no shuttle can get down to us in this."

"Rain's damning us and saving us all at once." Jim mutters. His eyes open now. Normally warm, mischievous hazel is now dark and thoughtful. He rolls over on his side, head propped up with a hand. "There's too many of those things to attack openly. I just wonder if they're hive-minded like bugs, or-"

"Certain types of arachnids can be social creatures." Spock speaks up again. "But it is illogical to assume they are 'hive minded'-I know none of the species that are or ever were."

Jim's eyes flicker to him, and he nods slightly- he knew that already, of course he knew that, but Jim thinks out loud and it helps him when we do, too.

_Three minds instead of one. _

"But they can communicate; the question is, over how large a distance." I add at last. "And if it's purely physical speech or if they communicate telepathically as well." The words feel odd coming from my lips. I'm an old-fashioned man at heart; Jim's noted it many times.

"And just how many of them there are." Jim adds.

"I calculate twenty that pursued us before-"

"You _counted_?" I hear my own voice raise an octave higher then I want it to. On the cave floor, Jim's lips twist in that wry, lop sided grin that he has, eyes going back to their usual playful spark.

"It is an estimate, Doctor." He looks over at me, and there, for the second time, is that eyebrow. I think he's getting tired of me interrupting him. Also, I don't think he knew my voice could hit that level of exasperation. Running for our lives, fighting giant arachnids and desperately seeking cover, blindly dashing through pouring rain, and somehow, someway, he'd managed to figure out roughly how many enemies we had. "Just as I _estimate_ that the next group they send for us will be at least twice that many, as twenty was insufficient and you yourself stated they are _highly_ intelligent. Colonial spiders could most often be found in groups of thousands."

Thousands. I shudder, thinking of that number. First, you picture one hundred, which isn't that hard- there are over _four_ hundred people on the _Enterprise_ alone. So four hundred, in your mind, is an easy number to grasp. Times it by two and it starts getting a little trickier. Do it again and some part of your mind has frozen up, curling into a little ball because that's _at least_ the amount you need to be thinking of. There was a plural mentioned there.

Jim pokes the fire with a stick, lifting his gaze to the rain. "Spock, you're shivering." He says almost lazily, and I am instantly jerked out of contemplation by a surge of irritation. The last thing I need is someone getting sick on me out of pure bull-headedness. My fear is burned away, shoved to the back of my mind with cold, clinical precision as I have something to focus on. I can see the tremors in his hands from here, and set my jaw. _Pig-headed idiot, too stubborn to admit he's cold so he's going to sit there and make __**me**__ get up-_

Because even if I disliked Spock as much as I act like I do, I would have gone to him, anyway. It's not in my nature to allow suffering that I can prevent; not even when it's a person's own stupid fault. He's a walking, talking computer; a cold blooded logic-minded idiot who lies to himself as much as us about not 'feeling'. It took even me a couple months to realize how big a lie that is, and I felt like a heel for pushing him as hard as I did. Do. Still do. But at least now I've learned where to stop. He drives me back and forth from crazy on a dialing basis but damn it all if he's not my friend, and Jim's friend, and what can I do?

"Can you tell me what the _logic_ is in sitting there freezing to the bone when there is an entire cave to get into?" I snap, pushing myself up gingerly. All of our wounds are minor, but they're still _there_. My body is aching and stiff, the cold and injuries working together to make me feel every bit of my age with a few years tacked on. Once up, I have to bend double, and I'm the smallest person here, shorter then Jim by half a head. Spock is taller then both of us- me by a considerable amount and Jim just barley. _Possibly why,_ a voice snaps in my head, _he doesn't want to come in further, you addle-brained twit. Talk about cramped and uncomfortable._ But it didn't matter; I'd rather deal with an uncomfortable Spock then a half-frozen one.

"I assure you, Doctor I am-" He cuts off as I get to him, grab arm.

I'm a doctor- I'm a _watcher_. I learn people by standing back and observing them; it's how I learned how to handle Jim. How you learn how to tell when someone is hurt, mentally or physically. I'm good at picking up on lies, and it doesn't take me long to figure out the subtle nuances of the people I work with.

Jim is a toucher. Men or women, in affection and friendship or romantically and protectively, he reaches out physically without much thought. A pat on the shoulder, a hug, an arm slung over someone's neck, a hand clasped around the back of someone's neck or arms, feet in an available lap, (or head in one, if it's female) or just a firm handshake; I've seen him do all those things. He reaches out to grab and pull you like a child if he's in a hurry or excited; put an arm out in front of you to protect or hold you back. He's remarkably physically demonstrative; and he doesn't ask permission first. His entire family is that way (I've met them more then once) and it's simply how Jim was brought up. In fact, he gets uncomfortable when he _can't_ simply reach out to someone else; he knows when it's inappropriate, but that's when he gets edgy. Restless. He takes _comfort_ in being able to touch.

Spock does not, and is, in fact, the opposite in every way. Grab him without permission and he yanks away as if burned. Corner him bodily and he'll go as awkward and bristly as a cat in a swimming pool. Touch telepath. That's what it's called, what Spock is, although from some of the things I've seen with it touch _empathy_, too; he seemed to just 'know' certain things, and when emotions run high in a room he becomes uncomfortable. But the point is skin on skin contact and Spock can read your mind. And like all Vulcans, his hands are far more sensitive then our own (he has twice as many nerve endings to be precise, making me flinch at the touch of anything ever crushing his hand) and his skin is general is more touch-receptive. From what we've learned, even though he's only half Vulcan, Spock is 'gifted' in the ways of that telepathy; he's _good_ at it, better then most. I've seen him control people from through a wall and pick up on and influence thoughts from a decent distance away. (The spiders are one example; he was the one who distracted them long enough for us to make good our escape.)

To be frank, it gives me the willies as much as anything ever has. But I'm getting used to it, just as I'm getting used to everything out here, slowly. I've gotten utterly off topic.

My point is, very few people are permitted to touch Spock. Jim and I are two of the people who he doesn't jerk back from like we burn him.

I still take care to grab his upper arm, where the material of his tunic covers skin. Even Jim does that, with him; respects him enough to keep skin contact limited.

He stiffens, slightly, under my hold, and I can feel the tremors running up and down his body like electricity. I drag him back over to the cave, and sure enough, he's forced to walk almost double. I shove him down in front of the fire, and Jim sits up, moving over to give him more room. It's not enough, not by half, but it's all we have.

"I am fine, Doctor." He finishes his statement from earlier, looking at me pointedly.

"You are not, you stubborn pain in my _ass_." I mutter, flumping back down with my back pressed against the wall again. I yelp in pain as a jagged rock managed to catch my tailbone, and jerk away.

"Sounds more like the rock was the pain in your ass." Jim quips from the fire, and I resist the urge to throw it at him. "You alright?"

"Fine. " I growl, setting it gingerly down. "I am just _wonderful_."

"Bones," He tries, coming over to me. He doesn't bother standing up, just crawls on hands and knees. "Once the rain lets up we'll be out of here inside of a few hours."

"Not true." I flinch at the familiar baritone, feeling the hackles on the back of my neck arch. "Once the rain ceases, search parties will be sent down, but the entire surface of the planet will have to be searched, as we do not have our communicators. Not only that, but once it is dry the inhabitants of this planet may well come for us again, forcing us to move. And to keep moving."

"You're saying we might stay ahead of our enemies, but we might be staying ahead of our friends, too." Jim muses. "Cheerful."

"It will be at least a day before our last campsite is found by one of the search parties, and depending on how often we are forced to move, we could be here for many weeks to come."

"High ground." I suggest. "Stay up where we can easily be seen, and can see what's around us."

"And maybe then we won't have to keep moving, or not as often." Jim nods slowly, worrying at his lower lip. It's a thoughtful, uncertain motion he won't do in front of just anyone. "If the- the-"

"Spiderzillas." It slips out before I can stop it- I clamp my jaw shut the moment the word is out. Jim glances at me and an eyebrow shoots up in one of the best Spock impressions I have ever seen. I think it might be contagious, the eyebrow thing.

"Spiderzillas." Jim echoes, and I can hear him trying not to laugh. "Is that the scientific term?"

I send him a sour glance, but in truth, I'm glad we can laugh and tease. It means we're okay; no one is in danger of death, no one's in significant pain, we're just lost and cold and sore and hungry and wet and grumpy and want to go _home_, but we're okay. I only start to worry when people get quiet; when spirits start to flag.

"Why don't you ask your _science officer_?" I groan, and Spock sends me a dull glance. I read it clearly; he's not even going to dignify my comment with one of his own.

"Play nice, you two, that's an order. If those things come after us and we have high ground, we might be able to see them coming; get to them before they can get to us."

I nod slowly to myself. "The only problem is we'll probably have less places for shelter. If it starts to rain again-"

"A risk." Spock says quietly from his corner, "but when given the choice of rain or becoming trapped here-"

"There's not much choice."

It comes to me again, that comment.

_Three brains instead of one. _

_Lucky enough to have three brains. Logic, emotion, and pure human spirit- Spock is primarily the first, and Jim and I are the second two, though which is which-_I end the thought with a shake of my head. Well, for once, all three brains seem to be in perfect agreement.

But I remember Spock's shaking. Out there, if it started to rain, with no cover; I don't want to think about the repercussions of that.

"Well, nothing we can do about it right now, unless that rain lets up right now." Jim comments.

"It would be more logical to move _while _it is raining." Spock points out from his corner. "As we have already determined, the arachnids-" He pauses, not sure that's _really_ the right word, but there's not a better one; except 'spiderzillas', and the day _that_ word leave Spock's mouth I will worry. "-dislike the rain to an extreme extent."

"No." I say. "I'm not going to stagger blindly through that maelstrom until we're half-drowned, and then stand out in it, just to make things a bit _easier_." And I'm not, either. Even if Spock doesn't get sick, Jim or I might, and not knowing exactly how long we'll be down here means we don't know how long it'll be until we can get back to sick bay. A cold can turn into pneumonia if left unchecked for too long and a slip could be devastating right now. I can only imagine the possible broken bones, internal injuries, gashes, lacerations and other wounds born of slipping off a cliff or ledge trying to get to high ground in the rain.

"He has a point." Jim comments, tapping the stone in thought. "The spiderzillas don't like the rain, which means we could make some progress anyway."

_I just had to say it out loud, didn't I? _

"I just said no." I snap, raising my gaze to both of them. "Spock's tempter is three or more degrees lower then ours. You saw him shivering just now, Jim, and that wasn't _out in it._ We'll be soaked within seconds-"

"We have no way of knowing how much longer this will continue; we can not stay here forever. I assure you, I am more then capable of tolerating what I must."

"You mean that super-Vulcan brain of yours can't figure out how much longer it's going to rain based off of how long it has?"

"No more then you can say how long a person will remain ill from how long they have been, Doctor."

"I _can_. Or at least, how long they _should_ be ill." I smirk.

"Bones, stop needling him." Jim's voice again, lowered and commanding.

"'Needling' me?" Spock asks, tone lilting up with subtle confusion.

"Annoying," Jim says, "trying to irritate you into a-"He stops, sighing quietly. "Right. I'm sorry, I forget, you don't get annoyed, do you, Mr. Spock?"

"Indeed, Captain." He says.

"Like hell." I say, with a snorted laugh. Spock gives me a look that couldn't possibly be annoyance and then turns back to the fire. Jim laughs softly, but says "Bones," in low-voiced reprimand.

"Last time I checked, I was still the Captain here." He goes on quietly. "Anyway, it's dark now and I won't travel at night, rain or no. We'll give it until tomorrow. We'll have to stop for rest anyway, Bones, we'll find shelter."

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	2. Chapter 2

I am, unsurprisingly, the first to hear the disturbance. I wake and do not move, feigning sleep and trying to discern the precise location of the scrambling, scratching noise at the side of the cave we have sheltered in. I am cold; painfully cold, when I first wake, shivering violently. My breath hitches in my chest, and I am forced to set my jaw against the shuddering. I close my eyes again and take a breath, two.

_I am Vulcan, I am in control. Pain is of the mind. There is no pain. I am in control._

The shivering stops, but the noise does not. Claws, large ones, rapidly moving along the outside right wall, that do not sound like the movements of the creatures we previously encountered. They are too heavy and too slow. They remind me most acutely of I-Chaya, the Sehlat my family had owned as a child on my planet. I-Chaya had not, of course, ever climbed anything she could avoid; but the movements are correct. I push upright slowly as the sounds draw nearer, and move to the mouth of the cave. Instantly the wind hits me; it brings with it the freezing, seemingly constant rain of this planet and I draw to the side, using the cave as a breaker of sorts. It also serves as cover against the eyes of whatever beast this may be. Doctor McCoy had mockingly remarked only hours before that I was unable to know when the rain might end on this planet; I had not given him the answer I should have. I had not lied- I can not lie- but misdirection is a different thing.

I had misdirected because in truth, I am not certain the rain will cease for a very long time. Based on the behavior of the creatures and the force of the rain- is has neither slackened nor paused in the days we have been here- I can only assume that the rains here only one time a year, for the rest of the year. The creatures and animals would feed and gather reserves up until the monsoon, for lack of a better term, would begin. Then, any of them not willing to brave the storm would take shelter- very probably in a cave like our own- and either hibernate for the rest of the remaining time or simply wait.

I had no desire to argue the point with the Doctor, however. His entire stance would simply be that I had no proof, no factual way of knowing. A logical, rational deduction on my part, proof or no, and later he would concede the point; but the strain of our situation would cause him to act out at first, and I am most usually the target of his temper.

In the future it might become necessary to bring to light; at the time, it would have only caused raised voices that might have revealed our shelter to less then desirable others, and placed McCoy in a belligerent mood. It would have lingered and perhaps affected the Captain, as well; I have often noticed that they seem to feed off of each other.

I wait until I am positive that the other two stranded members of my party will be able to hear the creature before I take a knee and shake the Captain's shoulder gently. He wakes almost at my first touch, heart hammering and waves of sudden adrenaline rolling from him to knock against my shields like waves crashing against a cliff face. If I linger too long, I have the irrational and illogical thought that he will eventually wear through them with the sheer force of his spirit alone, and that, more then his wakefulness, has me drawing back perhaps more quickly then I should.

He is awake but not completely _awake_- he blinks blearily at me and opens his mouth to speak, confused. I quickly hold a finger to my own lips in the universal gesture for silence, and his mouth closes, head tipping to the side, listening. He lifts his gaze to me after a moment, wild and anticipatory. The feel from him has changed to excited- something I have never fully understood. He enjoys the thought of danger- even seeks it out. He does not enjoy seeing death, or injury of those people he cares for, but he will throw himself almost blindly into a situation despite that.

He reaches over to McCoy, repeating much the same process I had just completed with him, and within minutes we are all three huddled by the mouth cave, listening to the creature outside draw nearer.

And then it is here.

And we all stare, even me, unable to properly react.

What we are looking at seems to be a very, very large badger. She is easily the size of I-Chaya, which explained why her movements were so alike. I-Chaya was small for her race, standing only six foot at the shoulder when on all fours. I suspect this female does the same.

She is also very, very pregnant. Even if it wasn't for her swollen stomach I would be able to sense the kits inside her. She is close; within days. I look at McCoy, who has been able to tell the same only moments after myself. His eyes are wide with awe and no small amount of fear. I can feel it coming off him the way I could feel Jim, moments before; his projections are quieter, though, calmer.

Despite repeatedly commenting on his impulsive, irrational nature, McCoy is far more logical then he will admit to anyone. For a human, he has found a fairly centered balance of emotion and logic. It is only that it tips far too much towards emotion when pushed. All the same, being in close contact with him and being in close contact with the Capitan is the difference of standing in a room with someone speaking normally or someone yelling. McCoy feels; Jim feels _loudly_. He does not mean to cause me discomfort; he simply doesn't know better, and likely could not control it if he did.

The creature shuffles in, seemingly utterly unaware of us, and it only takes a moment to realize she is blind. She does not, however, lack a sense of smell. Once inside she goes very still, head raised as she attempts to pinpoint our location. None of us move or speak; we are very still and very tense as she decides we are not a threat and makes her way to the back of the cave. The captain lets out a slow breath, straightening up, but his movements are slow and cautious. "She doesn't…..know we're here?" He asks uncertainly, voice halting oddly in the unique speech patterns he demonstrates when thoughtful or considering.

"She knows." McCoy breaths. "She knows, alright, but apparently she's too concerned with other things to care."

"And we do not, apparently, register as predators." I add.

"How _could_ we be? She's twice our size." Jim mutters.

"All the same, be careful. She's about to be a momma, and ladies get testy around this time." The doctor's voice has taken on a strangely affectionate lilt. I lift a brow at him, and he mimics it back at me, but I, again, do not need any help to see the affection behind it. I give him a look of what he would read as disdain and turn away, relaxing slowly. The creature has curled up in the back on the cave, unable to stand because of the cramped confines, and is 'watching' us.

While resembling earth's badger, there are significant differences. Her size is the most notable, and if she took to her back legs alone she would, indeed, be easily twice the size of any man here. Luckily, unless she and we exit the cave, this is not possible for her, and I doubt she would be inclined to do it at any rate. She also sports very large, pointed ears- no doubt this will be the source of many jokes once Doctor McCoy deduces we are in no danger, or we return to the ship- that are wide, bat-like, and end in tuffs of white fur. It leads me to realize that her entire species must be blind, and the ears are hyper sensitive. Likely her other senses are also significantly heightened. Her claws are easily six inches in length, curved slightly, and she has a very long, slender tail that seems very agile and flexible. Her coloration was wrong, too; aside from the white fur at the tips of the ears, she was various shades of blacks and browns. It was why we had not seen her until she was nearly on top of us. She has perfect camouflage for a creature that moves at night. Even her ears can be explained away as a lure for smaller creatures, much like some deep sea fish do.

Now the only concern is if her diet includes small mammals like most of her smaller models. If so, at her size, we certainly classify.

Jim is thinking the same thing, for he turns to me and jerks a hand in her direction.

"Can you-"

Ever since he discovered my ability to 'speak' with other creatures, he has cautiously been coaxing me to do so more often. In truth, it is not something that is remarkably upsetting; making 'contact' from a distance is not what can become dangerous. Or at least, not as quickly as touching them and initiating a full meld. It is illogical for me _not_ to use my ability in situations like this; when it could be a simple misunderstanding that might result in death or injury to any of us, including her. I can prevent that. If she is intelligent and not merely a beast, it will be easier; but even a beast can be influenced.

"Of course I _can_." I say, deliberately taking him literally. "And I also will."

He gives me an irritated, amused look but steps back to where the Doctor is, and they confer in soft, low tones as I step forward. It will be slightly more difficult, as the invasive cold I am still keeping at bay is a distraction, but nothing spectacularly challenging. I extend my hands slowly- the motion is unnecessary, but it provides a 'focus' of sorts. As I reach out I also _reach out_, cautiously, taking my time. Too quickly, and it would become potentially dangerous for both of us. I am still aware of _myself_. There is little danger of that changing for the moment.

She is surprised at my touch, and she _is_ intelligent, at least as intelligent as the arachnid-creatures that were hunting us before. She is not frightened by me, merely quietly impressed that I am able to speak with her. She's never met anything outside of her own race that can. Her voice is deep, a pleasant rumble that I can feel all through my body. I introduce myself and my companions, and explain our situation here. She gives me a sense of amused tolerance and suggests we come closer inside. She knows we are injured and cold. I repeat this, and the Doctor laughs a little.

"Don't forget hungry, sore, lost, and being hunted." He mutters, and while I know he is merely being difficult, I can see the logic in letting her know all these things. Perhaps she can help. I do so, more eloquently, and she wants to know why- I tell her.

"She says we should join her." I say after a pause, lowering my hands and 'pulling back' from the connection I made. "She offers us….warmth, at least, for the night."

"Does she know when the rain will stop?" The Captain asks me.

I had been correct in my assumption. She had confirmed it. "The rain will _not_ stop, Doctor, not for many months." I resist the urge to shudder. We will have to travel in the rain tomorrow, after all. I can control myself, of course, my reactions, but that does not mean I am excited about the prospect of being made to do so. I am not used to cold.

"Two seasons." Jim grunts. "Wet and dry."

"Crude, but accurate, Captain." I reply.

"Looks like we'll have to move in the rain after all. At least for now," He straightens as much as he can and comes over, slowly, looking at me with uncertainty. I nod, and he reaches out slowly. She extends her muzzle to his hand, and he touches it lightly. She nuzzles and within moments he is scratching her and moving closer with a smile. "We have a pretty lady to keep us company."

Sometimes, I wonder if there is any woman-besides a Vulcan woman, of course- in the galaxy that Jim could not charm.


	3. Chapter 3

Her fur isn't nearly as soft as it looks, but she doesn't stink, at least. In fact, she kind of smells like herbs, mint maybe, even wet as she is. And she's not, honestly, that wet-I think her fur probably has a coating to keep her dry. Oil, or something; either way, in the short time she's been with us she's already dried considerably. She practically radiates warmth, too, and she's _gentle_; I can tell it the minute I set a hand on her. Her blind eyes soften and she yawns in my face, bored- her breath isn't as pleasant as the rest of her. I cough softly, trying to hide it, as Bones appears by my side.

"Well hello there, ma'am." Bones drawls, letting his accent thicken playfully. He meets my eyes, though, and I can tell he's worried; about how Spock's holding up, how I'm holding up. Worried about everyone but himself, it seems like. That's McCoy for you- he'll whine until he turns blue but when it comes to the important things, he clams up and stays that way. He always complains we hide it or downplay it when we get hurt, but what he _won't_ tell you is that he tends to do the same damn thing, and he's worse about being a martyr then both of us.

He reaches out a hand to her the way I did, and fingers her oily, smooth coat. She turns her head to sniff at him, chewing at his sleeve. He jerks in surprise and yanks away, but she seems neither hostile, nor agitated at his sudden action. "She's just curious, Bones." I say, as she does the same thing to me, sniffing and nibbling a corner of my tunic. "Spock, she's intelligent?"

"She is as intelligent as our friends outside." Spock confirms. "Though she does not think like you or I."

There are many different definitions of the word 'intelligent.' Arrogant race we are, we tend to put ourselves at the top of that scale- that anything we can't easily communicate with must be less then we are. That we are one of the most sophisticated, educated races alive. If captaining the _Enterprise_ has taught me anything, it is that those assumptions are incredibly _wrong_. We are no where near as elite as we like to think we are. But, as I was told, once-there's potential in us, hope for us yet. I chuckle at the memory.

"Jim?" Bones heard me laughing.

"Nothing." I assure him, still smiling. "Nothing, Bones just- remembering something. Settle down. Get some rest while you can."

If we're going to have to travel through _that_ mess tomorrow, I want us all as fresh as possible. I wish we could stay put- but we're almost invisible here, partly why we chose this spot. We're half-way up a rocky incline trying it's best to be a hill, and the surrounding foliage is so thick that we kept tripping and getting caught up on our way in here. I hate to think what making our way _higher_ is going to be like.

Hopefully we can find a clear path.

Hopefully we'll find another shelter if we're here overnight again. (It would be the fourth night.)

Hopefully we'll be high enough to be seen by any search parties. ( _If_ they can get a search party down to us in this weather. )

Hopefully we won't be here much longer.

Hopefully we can keep each other alive and healthy and well.

Hopefully, hopefully, hopefully, I _hate_ that word. I hate not being in control, being helpless.

Heaven knows we've been in situations enough times where someone or some_thing_ tried to kill us, trap us, force us into their will, and force us into games. I, my crew, my _friends_, have all come scant moments from death since this mission started.

More then once, things have hinged on a jump to the left or right on my part-and lives have hinged on _hopefully_. But in those situations, in almost all of them, there has been a loophole, options, doors and paths- things we can do. A way to grab the situation and control it, or at least steer yourself along in the tide. Quick thinking, quick speaking, sheer physical brawn- maybe it was _hopefully_, but it wasn't _just_ hopefully. Of course, there's always a chance the choice would be the wrong one, and that thought haunts me even now. And then you have things like this situation; no loophole. No quick thinking, or games, or brawn or anything but _hopefully_.

Understand, I would not trade this life for all the money you would pay me; I would never trade the things I've learned, races I've met, bonds- _Spock, Bones, you two most of all_- I've made, or the ship-_my_ ship, my girl.

Never.

I don't blame Pike for wanting retirement; I understand how draining, how exhausting this position can be. I feel it, too, sometimes. Feel the stress of so many lives in my hands, my choices the difference of life and death for some. Each time someone dies on my watch, I feel like I've been punched in the stomach. I remember them, the names, the faces- I dream them, sometimes. Wake up panting and shaking from nightmares of men and woman who died far too soon, blaming me, hating me.

But I could no more leave her or them then I could stop breathing. Almost worse then the dreams of the dead are the nightmares of _that_. Of never setting foot on her bridge again, of being trapped, confined to one place, one planet, for the rest of my life. Of loosing her, of loosing _them_.

I belong out here, like this. No matter what happens, no matter how tired I am- I belong here.

"-_Jim_!"

Oops. From the sound of it, that's not the first time my name has been said. I blink out of my introspection and turn. McCoy is watching me, absently stroking the huge beast on the shoulder, and at his feet is Spock, leaning back against her warmth. His eyes are closed, and a surge of protective concern swells in my chest. He's wearing thin- we're all wearing thin. It's the constant rain, I think. Plus he's cold and hurting because he's cold. It's funny, how- sometimes- just _sometimes, _I really do expect too much from him. It's easy to forget that he's just as failable as we are. He'll deny it until he's blue in the face, but while he's more then human he's less then immortal. His body and mind are stronger and tougher then ours will ever hope to be, but there is still a breaking point.

He's not at or even near it at the moment- no more then we are. But that doesn't mean I've never put him there. I tend to expect him to be- I don't _know_, I expect him to be- invincible. It's stupid, the way a child might look to an older brother as invincible, and my rational adult mind tells me it's a foolish notation and not fair to him _or_ myself. Because he _knows_ and I think, sometimes, he tries to keep me from seeing he's _not_. And when I _do_ see it- and this is far from the only time- it scares me.

Guilt swims up alongside the concern, and the two clash, merging with emotion already there and filling me with impotent frustration.

I lash out when I'm frustrated. It's a character fault I'm aware I have, and it's something I'm biting back on _hard_ at the moment. I passed 'frustrated' two days ago. I manage not to snap at him. I usually take it out on him when I'm like this- he's one of my best friends, certainly one of the oldest, and those are usually the people we attack when emotions run high. We feel bad about it after, or I always do, and I am determined not to have to apologize to him for it again. Not now.

"Sorry, Bones, I didn't- what?"

"….I was saying you need to come get some sleep too." He says, gentle, blue eyes concerned.

He's about as pleasant as a wet cat sometimes, but he honestly cares about us; sometimes more then what's good for him. He hides it pretty well, but I've known him long enough to know you'll never find someone with a bigger heart, compassionate and gentle. He looses his hold on his temper as often as I do, sometimes more, but he always stops just short of crossing the line, and if he can't, if he goes just a step or two too far, he always apologizes within hours. Sometimes minutes. He can't stand to stay angry at a person, and fighting gets him twisted up in knots. Might have something to do with the divorce- left a sour taste in his mouth for arguments, maybe. Serious ones, that is, because he _loves_ to bicker and pick at anyone who'll play back.

That's not to say he's a doormat- I've never seen him let _anyone_ walk over him. He'll stand up for himself and his beliefs with a vicious passion that sometimes gets out of control. To Spock, to me, to anyone who dares challenge him; everyone. He goes from a docile, good-natured country doctor to a hissing, spitting wildcat in the time it takes to blink, and I've seen him bite to draw blood only once or twice. Like I said, he doesn't _go out_ to hurt someone when he's arguing with them.

But he has this uncanny knack of exactly where to strike that will hurt the most. Maybe it's because he's a doctor- maybe it's just because he knows us so well. Whatever the reason, he's incredibly intuitive, and that can be used for bad just as often as good.

But he won't do that. Because he's Bones, and no matter how much he snarls and snaps, he can't stand to see anyone in pain. Physical or otherwise- it tears him up, especially if he can't help.

"Warming up to her, hm?" I ask, motioning at his stroking hand. He instantly stops, giving me a scowl. She rumbles her displeasure, though, and shoves her head under his hand, hard enough to nearly knock him off balance. He staggers back a step, into me, and I catch him by the shoulders, half-laughing.

"Well, she's certainly warmed up to you!" I quip, pushing him back. "C'mon, McCoy, you're a doctor, comfort a pregnant lady."

I'm just playing, trying to keep our spirits up, trying to keep myself from wandering back down pathways that are far too dark and easy to get lost in. He knows that, and might normally have gone along with it, but he's in no mood to be teased. He smacks my hands away, snarling. "Damn it, Jim-" And trips. Over Spock's legs, causing him to jolt with surprise.

And _she catches him_. I'm rather surprised she could, seeing how she's blind; but I didn't miss the massive ears, either. I'm guessing her sense of hearing is as much better then any of ours as Spock's is to Bone's and mine. Not only that, but with those claws and the teeth I got a momentary flash of when she yawned in my face, she seems to be predatory. She probably has to have developed heightened other senses to hunt blind.

We stare, shocked, as her massive nose slips under his back and rights him before he can hit the ground. Gently, she rights him, and runs a rough tongue along his back and hair, giving him a massive cowlick and ripping his shirt even further. Spock blinks, once, and his lips twitch in that _not smile_ we're so familiar with. I love that expression, that almost smile; when you can see in his eyes the laughter, the mischievous nature he hides so well. He has a warm, open smile, the few times I've seen it, the kind of smile you want to meet with one of your own. But I prefer this; the not-smile.

"Very much so, apparently." He says, the first thing he's said for a while now, and closes his eyes again. Bones groans and starts to move away, but she reaches out with a massive claw and pulls him back with a startled yelp. And she starts to groom him.

I won't lie; it feels good to laugh.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry about the error in height in the first chapter; honestly, in the series, it always seemed like Kirk was just a bit taller then McCoy. Apparently I was wrong. . **

I'm actually a little surprised we all managed to fall asleep. It's disorienting when I wake; the first thing I'm aware of is warmth. Incredible, almost stifling warmth. My eyes flutter open as my next realization is how difficult it is to breath; panic floods my system, instinctive adrenaline rush as I begin to struggle, desperate to get away from this new danger.

Then a low rumble above my head reminds me where I am and what I'm leaning on. I relax, slowly, as momma brings her massive snout down to wuff at my hair gently. "I'm clean." I grouse, pushing it away. "Trust me, I'm clean!"

"That's a statement that could be taken a few different ways, isn't it?" Sleepy baritone from somewhere to my right.

"Har har." I mutter, half-turning to look at Jim where he is curled against her side. Spock is just the other side of him, but he's upright on his knees, staring intently at the lady's side. I push up, and she lets me, unhooking her powerful leg from my middle. The cold hits instantly, and I shudder, wrapping my arms around myself. Jim looks from one of us to the other, and then sits up, too, huffing when the cold slams into him. He swears, rubbing his arms vigorously. "Spock, what's the matter?"

"I believe-" Spock pauses, head tilted slightly. "I am not doctor, Captain, but I believe our shelter has gone into labor."

I blink. For one, that was humor. Dry, sarcastic humor, but not the first time I've heard it from him. For two- excuse me, _what_?

"What?" I snap, echoing myself without really meaning to. But it's the only thing in my head at that moment.

"I said, 'I believe-'"

"I know what you _said_, damn it." I growl. He's doing that on purpose. He usually does, and don't let him tell you otherwise. I can count on one hand the number of times a misunderstanding has been an _honest_ misunderstanding.

Jim has climbed to his feet now, forgotten about the low ceiling, and there is a dull _thwack_ as his skull impacts. He yelps, ducking instantly, one hand on the top of his head. "Low bridge." He mutters. I roll my eyes.

"It's your head you hit, you'll be fine." I snap, and he does a double take. He fights back a smile, trying hard to look irritated.

"Don't you have another patient to tend to, then, if I'm so alright?"

"I never said you were 'alright', I said you'd be 'fine'. You haven't been 'alright' since I've known you. And she's a giant badger-" Not really, but close enough- "Jim, intelligent or not she's got an animal's body and I'm not a vet." But I half-crouch and head over to where he is. I want to make sure he and Spock are managing alright and I'm curious to see if Spock's correct. Jim's already dropped his hand by the time I get there but I touch the top of his skull gently anyway. Goose egg, not surprising. I drop my hands and scoot up closer to our lady friend, where Spock is crouched.

I reach out, touching, feeling- she doesn't seem to mind, mostly ignoring me. After a minute of palpitating her, I turn my attention away back to Spock under the pretense of being thoughtful. If he knew I was worrying over him again, he'd only close up hard.

I see no trembling, at the moment, his graceful, long fingered hands still and steady as he crouches near her. Christine once confided in me that those were one of her favorite features on him. His hands, she said, are beautiful. And I can't say they aren't. He's got artist's hands, or musician's hands.

"I think you're right." I tell him after a moment, and sure enough, to confirm it, her side ripples convulsively, and she rumbles again, just as she had when I woke. "Gentleman, we are about to become uncles."

Spock lifts his head, and Lord help me, I don't know if he's heckling me or perfectly serious when he says, "Doctor, I do not believe any of us are related in any way to this creature."

Either way, it makes Jim laugh so hard he hits his head again.

"Low bridge." I remind him dryly, as he grips his second lump with both hands and moans softly, still half-laughing. My lips are twitching, but for some stupid reason I'm fighting the grin; I finally let it out, shaking my head helplessly. Like I said before, I'm glad to hear laughter. A while ago, before we'd gone to sleep, Jim had been deep someplace else, someplace unpleasant. I almost never see that look on his face- shadowed, clouded. Jim was made for laughter and teasing, and to see him wandering lost in some dark place in his mind he almost never gives us access to is unsettling at best. He straightens up, laughter still glittering in his eyes.

"Either way, I think we're more nurses right now then uncles." He says, glancing over to our fire, long gone out. We have no way of building it back up, but with her in here with us, it's bearable. Our body heat is enough unless she leaves. Then he lifts his eyes to the cave mouth, considering. Leave now, or wait? Would it even matter?

I hope he waits. The longer we can gather strength the better, because that is going to be one monster of a hike.

He turns back after a moment, leaning back on his hands. "How long do you think?"

I just told him I wasn't a vet. And I know nothing about this species, even if I was. But I can still estimate, and I do; I'd assume she's within an hour of giving birth.

"I _think_ we're all about to find out how giant alien badgers give birth." I say, grimly hoping she can't understand and take offense to my comment.

"Badgerzillas?" Jim asks from my side, and I feel a blush burn on my cheeks.

"….a real comedian tonight, aren't you?"

"Her race is called the Tejjion, Captain." I don't know when the _hell _I got into the habit of _flinching_ every time Spock speaks. I assume the bad-the Tejjion had told him that, when he'd spoken to her before. Maybe had only told him just now, I don't know how that entire mess works and I have absolutely no desire to.

Well. I know a little. I know more then I ever wanted to, and remembering the invasive touch of the Other Spock makes me shiver. He could have easily, I realized, destroyed me. It hadn't hurt; I'd been surprised, to be honest; he hadn't pried through anything but what he _needed_, and that was right at the front of my mind, anyway. He'd simply opened a window; not kicked in a door.

But the sheer helplessness of the situation was terrifying. The swell of a foreign presence, in my _head_, in my mind, of some other being's feelings and thoughts overlapping with my own by force, without permission, without acceptance, and all the time pinned by a man twice as strong as myself, completely at his mercy.

I shudder and shove the memory away. That had not been Spock, not our Spock; and really, it _hadn't _hurt. He hadn't _done_ anything to me. It hadn't felt anything but _invasive_, and had made me feel….very helpless.

And I understand much better now why Spock was reluctant to make that connection with another living being the day I asked him too so long ago. Why he still hesitates at having to do that, sometimes.

I shake my head, refusing to dwell on it. I have more important things to worry about then my mental health- after all, I'm the only mostly-sane one of out Jim's _three brains_, and that's good enough for me.

"-ones. _Bones_!"

I swivel, blinking as Jim gives me a shove. At first I think he pushed me only to get my attention; then I realize he's staggering _with_ me, deliberately pushing me further left.

Pushing me out of the way.

I'd gotten lost in thought; I hadn't been paying attention. I should have known better; there was no excuse, near a creature this size entering labor. But I had stopped paying attention, and that tail-

There's the _crack_ of bone breaking, first. If you've never heard bone snap, don't go rushing to do it. I guess it's a subconscious reaction, but you know instantly what it is, even if you're not a doctor. Some part of you just _knows_. And your stomach jumps and twists about fifteen times midair before settling down again, and your heart races wildly. It's harsh and crisp in my ears, and then comes Jim's voice raised in a pained yell.

I've heard the sound many, many times. And I never get used to it, and I never will. He crumples to the ground at my feet, swearing a blue streak through gritted teeth with his arm clutched to his middle.

_If he can curse, he's fine. If he can curse he can breathe which means he's just got his arm broken which means he's okay he's okay, calm down, you can fix this, you know what to do. _

I allow myself a moment- just a moment- of sickening panic. Jim's just broken his arm. There is nothing I can do but possibly, crudely, set it, splint it if I can find something to do so with. I lost most of my supplies running from the spiderzillas. The foliage, the hills- I'd tripped. We'd all tripped, but when I had I'd watched in horror as the medical kit had popped open and spilled out. Spock's quick reflexes had saved some of it, and my own some more, but-

Then I push the panic away, down, _away_. Push it to the back of my mind and lock it up tight.

Spock has his hands on her massive head, his eyes closed and head bowed, and she's gone all still again. To late for Jim, but at least she's not clobbering us again. I pause, only a moment, torn between my friend that's hurt and my friend that could be in danger, but Jim's soft, breathy moan ends my battle. I drop to my knees next to him.

"_Damn it_, Jim, of all the stupid-" I snarl, reaching out to jerk his shoulders back. "Let me see how bad. Jim, let me see." I have to say it twice, harsher the second, because shock and instinct has him doubled over protectively and he won't relax. I don't spare a thought to the way I speak to him. He's my Captain when he has to be, but he's my friend first, and that's how it will always be in my mind. And my _friend_ just did something monumentally stupid.

As usual.

Just as he has snapped at Spock, yelling would have gotten me out of the way just as easily as diving in like some self-sacrificial fool. I heard his second warning, probably would have moved in time. Probably.

Damn it.

"_Me?" _ He pants out, lifting his gaze and trying a smile. "I think I just saved you some broken ribs, B-Bones."

"And got a broken arm for your trouble."

Spock slips around, appears by my side. "She has calmed down considerably. She was merely distressed, and did not intend harm."

Is he defending the badg-Tejjion? I lift a brow at him, amused, surprised.

"I know, Spock, I know." I mutter, distractedly; I'm only hearing him with half my mind. The other half is already in full surgeon mode; tricorder still at my side, still functional, running it up and down his arm. Hands at the small black bag at my waist- Jim hisses with pain as I tug accidentally. Frankly, I don't care.

The medical devices I have at my beck and call are extensive and incredible. Things I never imagined myself becoming familiar with, things that can make healing and diagnosing easier then I ever could hope.

Nothing but time and proper medical care will fix a broken bone.

"All I can do is make a splint, or a sling." I say after a minute, my tone crisp with irritation and anger. "Damn it, Jim, you shouldn't have-"

He is pale with pain, panting softly, sweating and I am only glad he's not in shock by this point. "If she had hit you she would have cleaved you in half." He lowers his head to his knees, but he's not fading; I recognize the gesture, have seen it and many like it before from him. He's gathering himself, shoving the pain to the back of his mind the way I shoved back the panic.

Then Spock speaks again, low; "Doctor? Perhaps this will be useful." And he hands me his shirt. Or what _remains_ of his shirt. He's torn it just enough to that I can rip and manipulate it into a sling.

What do you know? Sometimes that half-breed pain can be useful after all.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

She is honestly regretful that she so wounded our Captain. Despite my assurances that her actions were involuntary, she continues to make low, whining sounds of distress and will not allow Jim more then four feet away at any time.

The birth, aside from the one incident, was remarkably easy and uneventful. She had a litter of four kits, a birth like any other mammal, but they were born open-eyed and active; they were up and walking within five minutes of birth. Not unusual in a predatory species and less so in one raised in such an environment. They roll around at his feet, learning essential skills they will need as adults under the pretense of play. They are quite blind; and they spend a good few minutes running into walls, their mother, one another, us, and, once, the Doctor's tricorder. (That was not well-received.) But they are intelligent and learn quickly; they do not know how to use their heightened senses as of yet, but they do not run headlong into obstacles more then once. Their fur is much softer then her own, baby fur, and their claws are already quite formidable, as are their teeth. She regurgitates their meals for them; I find it fascinating that she is able to store food for them in what is most likely a spare 'stomach', keeping it from becoming fully digested or rotting inside her for the remainder of the year.

The Doctor is at her head, for the second time petting her absently. One of the kits is chewing on his thumb, kicking his hand with hind claws- at the moment, it is no more dangerous then letting a kitten do so.

"Cute little buggers, aren't they?" He asks, freeing his hand and 'play pouncing' the kit on the head with it. There is an indignant squawk and the kit flips head over heels, recovers, and rushes him with a playful growl.

Jim chuckles, but the sound is muffled by the paw thrown over his chest. The moment the birth was over, the moment the kits were exploring and had fed, she had dragged herself over to Jim and locked him to her side with a leg. Much to the Doctor's chagrin, I will add; the moment she had grabbed the Captain by the scruff he had let out a noise I have only ever heard avian make before that moment.

She still hasn't let him go, but does not seem to be harming him; she is only treating him as she might a wounded kit. He was treated to the same grooming process the Doctor received moments earlier, much more gently. It's not as though we're able to move at the moment, at any rate- the Doctor will not allow Jim to travel uphill in the storm with his wound. He and I are, as we are more often then we admit, in perfect agreement; it is utterly illogical for Jim to risk further wound for the _possibility_ of a better vantage point. And so we sit, and wait, and Jim is treated to a rather vigorous bath.

I shelter in the crook of her flank, grateful it is no longer cold, at least. There are enough bodies in this small cave to keep it comfortable border lining _too_ warm. For myself, it is still cooler then I am used to, but no worse then the ship outside of my own quarters. The damp is as unpleasant as it ever was, but far more tolerable.

"They are cute, like kitt-ow!" He yanks his hand away from a particularly vigorous kit. "Careful, you little monster."

The third kit has been asleep in my lap since I sat, and the fourth is rather contentedly chewing at the tip of my boot. I see no logical reason to stop him; the boot is already quite battered.

Beneath me, abruptly, she gives a low growl, a rumbling sound of content, and brings her massive head out from under the Doctor's hand. She reaches around to touch me with the tip, as gently as she can. The Captain grunts tightly as the motion jars his arm; pats her. "Careful, big girl, let go if you want to do acrobatics." He pleads softly, but she only grips him tighter. She touches me with her nose again, and I oblige her to reach up and stroke her between the ears. She grips my arm between her jaws as I reach; I go very still and from in front of her, the Doctor stiffens, pushing up to his knees. Jim, too, has gone alert and begun to try to get free; the Doctor places a hand on his shoulder, preventing him from harming himself. But even while stilling the Captain, he has gotten to his own feet, as much as possible.

"Hey now-"

"It's quite alright, doctor." I say mildly, as there is no pain inflicted. She is simply gripping my arm- extremely lightly, but I dare not pull away. I would shred my own skin on her fangs. As I have told both the Captain and Doctor McCoy, I-Chaya was a teddy bear with six inch fangs. I am very accustomed to creatures that can badly injure you without attempting to. There is no fear; fear is illogical. She does not _wish_ to harm me, and even if she does without intention there is little any of us can do to prevent it. Also, fearful reactions cause harm far more often then good. I have seen it. As I did with I-Chaya, I remain still and calm and quiet, meeting her eyes evenly and waiting to see what she wants.

She tugs.

The kit in my lap tumbles out gracelessly, spilling onto the cave floor with an offended squeak. The one chewing at my toe jumps back, letting out a noise that is an odd cross of a bark and a purr. The Doctor falls back as her head comes forward again, I rather involuntarily in tow. The black undershirt I wear does not stand a chance against such rough treatment; it rips quiet widely, and my skin underneath tears slightly, too. Pin-pricks of green well along the underside of my lower arm, little worse then scratches. It is only the benefit of above-average reflexes and, I must admit, rather long legs that allow me to avoid tripping over another kit and then, immediately after, her own paw. If I had fallen, I do not know if she would have ceased pulling me.

Either way, she stops now, and holds my arm a second more. The Doctor moves forward a step, and she rumbles a low warning. He freezes, sending a glance to the Captain. I can pick up easily on their apprehension and uncertainty. I ignore it the way one might ignore a persistent, annoying knocking on a door. They are not acting on those emotions, but are experienced and intelligent enough to stand ready and wait. It is hard for them; the Captain, who has made it to his feet, free of the leg that had been holding him, is visibly tense and vibrating very slightly-the Doctor keeps opening and closing his hands, and instinctive reaction, I know, for one who wants to reach for a weapon.

He has no weapon to reach for, at any rate.

She releases and begins to lick clean the minor wounds she's made.

"You okay?" The doctor asks, not moving forward wisely. The first question, always, from him. His concern for our welfare runs deep; I have been told I am lucky he is my friend. I do not need to be told. I nod, once, reclaiming my arm when I am certain she is willing to give it back. The smell is-highly unpleasant, but her saliva seems to have sealed the wounds, a natural bandage. Interesting.

"What was that all about?" Jim hisses from my left, and I hear him move before I see him. I hold up a hand quickly, uncertain what she will do if he interrupts.

"I believe she wants me to ask." I reply, as she shoves her head under my hand with a rumble.

"All that just to get your attention?" Doctor McCoy grouses, sounding thoroughly ruffled.

"She was considerably gentle, Doctor." I scold, half-turning to show him the minor wounds. She growls in displeasure and butts my shoulder, knocking me forward a step.

"Gentle." McCoy grunts from behind me, but seems satisfied that I am uninjured.

"I think she wants you to hurry." Jim remarks, now moving near the doctor's side. His arm is bound up against his chest with the remains of my shirt, not in immediate risk of re-injury, but his pain is palpable.

He has always been skilled at doing what must be done despite his physical condition; most memorable is when he lied to me about being well after an assassination attempt by a spy, only to collapse the moment the last of the adrenaline wore out of his system. He had done it out of friendship and concern, and I understood he had not lied to me out of a malicious inclination. In the end, his choice had very likely been the right one, and I had not been entirely surprised when his legs had given out and he'd been half-carried to a bed.

It is very likely adrenaline carrying him at the moment. Stubborn and proud as he is, he will not simply sit down and rest. His injury is not life threatening, but he _is_ injured.

But I believe he is right, none the less; she does seem eager. I turn back to her and for the third time today make the connection. As I have done it twice in so short a time already, it is far easier then it was initially; simply following a pre-worn path rather then forging a new trail, to put it in understandable terms. Sometimes, this is far easier then other times; Jim, for example, from the moment I first attempted a meld with him, has never resisted me. It was almost frighteningly comfortable and simple to meld with him- and rather jarring to realize he trusts me so utterly.

The Doctor, on the other hand, is an uphill battle; perhaps from the forced invasion of his mind by my alternate persona (which I was told about the _first_ time my attempt to meld with him resulted in the mental equivalent of a vehicle crash), or perhaps simply because he is how he is- old fashioned and stubborn. He does not _mean_ to keep me out; he simply _does_, and causes pain for both of us until I can coax him into relaxing. I have long since deduced this is not a matter of trust- only that he is fiercely private, and as skittish about what he does not understand as a feral cat, complete with claws extended.

The creature is, as most other things are, a comfortable middle ground. What she has to say leaves me quiet surprised, and if I had been fully human, I might have grinned in relief.

"She can hear others." I say quietly, and the reaction behind me is immediate and loud. Both the Trejjion and I flinch minutely. Perhaps the Doctor is quieter mentally and emotionally, but verbally he can match the Captain in volume without, it seems, trying. The kits stop and stare at them, amazed by the sudden verbal assault. They are talking over each other, but I manage to gather the general idea is the same. They want to make certain she is referring to what they assume she is.

"Other _humans_." I confirm, modulating my own voice in the hopes that they will lower their own to hear me. Actually, she had said _other hairless small ones_, but 'other humans' was quite sufficient. "And she will take us to them."


	6. Chapter 6

I don't think it was very nice of someone to light my arm on fire.

I would also like it if Bones had a little more empathy, considering I kept him from getting walloped across the chest. Next time I'll _let_ him deal with broken or bruised ribs.

_Lord_, I hurt, and I can't think straight.

I force myself to stay focused, stay alert. It's not easy, but it's doable, and faced with the prospect of getting the hell away from here I find it even more doable. But my stomach is rolling, and every single movement seems to jar my arm, even if it couldn't possibly. In no world I have ever seen (and I have seen many) is the arm connected directly to the lungs. Yet every breath sends a lance of pain through it. Nor has my arm ever been bumped, brushed up against, jarred or moved so often in my life.

"She'll take us to them?" Bones echoes, lowering his voice when we both notice all members of the cave with heightened senses are staring balefully at us. Even the blind ones. "Will her kits be okay without her?"

I look down at the blind creatures that have gone back to play, one tripping over my foot. It growls as it stands back up and attacks my ankle until I bend and turn it in the direction of one of its brothers. Happily, it bounces off.

"She has a 'connection' of sorts with them." Spock assures, pulling away from the mother to gently unlatch one of the kits from his pants leg. He will never admit it, but he's fond of small furry creatures. Tribbles, cats, and now these things; he's getting to be a real softie if he doesn't watch it. "She will be able to tell if they are in danger."

And get back to them in time? I wonder. But frankly, if it came down to the kits being in danger or my crew- there isn't much choice. It wouldn't make me feel like the hero of the year if something happened to her because of us; but then, she was offering, and mother knows best, right? And I've passed the point where I can stop being selfish. My friends and crew are injured, exhausted, we're lost, we're trapped. If there's a chance I can end this situation, here, now, four days (four days?) later then it should have been ended, then I'm taking it. I shouldn't have let things go on this long.

I shouldn't have gotten us in this situation to start with. Bones will tell me it's not my fault. Spock will inform me that _logically_ there was no way I could have predicted this situation or stopped the events that transpired afterwards. (When I can mimic him that well, I get concerned.)

But I've told them before and I'll end up saying it a hundred more times before this is over; I'm the _captain_. It _is_ my fault, whatever it is, because I should know, prepare, be ready for any possible situation and able to see at least a short distance into the future paths things could take.

At least, this time, I don't have anyone's death on my hands. Not yet. Unless something happens to the search party- _**if**__ it's the search party_, whispers a little voice in the back of my mind, _and not some new thing to have to worry about, to have to protect them from with one lame arm and no weapon_- in which case, we'll deal with it when we have to.

"Well, if she wants to lead the way, then she knows what she's doing." I say, decisively, stepping forward. "When she's ready, Spock."

"You misunderstand, Captain- she does not want to lead us." I pause. He can't be suggesting what I think he is. She's big, yes; six foot tall at least and built massively. But she just gave birth, and anyway, she can't-

"She can't _carry_ us."

"I assure you, she's more then capable of managing our combined weight. It will be faster then stumbling after her in the rain."

"And safer." McCoy pipes up, arms folded across his chest. "Especially with that arm, Jim."

"My arm is fine." I snap, without thought, and even Spock gives me a mildly disbelieving look at that. I flinch slightly, knowing what's about to come and knowing I completely deserve it.

"Yes, Jim, because it's _supposed_ to hurt that badly." McCoy growls. "And be completely useless to you. You're _fine_. Maybe I should just take off this useless sling, hm? Get it out of your way-" He's reaching forward and I dance back a step even though I know he won't really snatch it off. Or at least, I hope he won't. Big heartedness aside, he can be _vicious_ sometimes.

"Alright, _alright_, I get the point!" I lift my good hand to ward him off the way you might try to hold off an attacking dog. He stops, but the scolding is still in his hot blue eyes, the anger that is born from fear and concern, just like my own anger usually is. It's no wonder we've been friends so long; we're disgustingly alike in a lot of ways. That includes Spock, too. "I wasn't-let's just get out of here."

She gives a low, grumbling rumble and begins to drag herself to the mouth of the cave. We all back away from her bulk, and it's only because we know where she is and it's starting to get light again even through the clouds that we can see her. She stretches, gaining her full height, and stands, waiting. I look at Bones who looks at Spock who looks at me, and there's a group mental shrug before we turn and walk for the cave entrance ourselves.

Squeak. Nip at my heel.

I stop, turning to glance down at two of the kits who have taken to following me. I bend, briefly scratching them under the chin.

"Be safe." I whisper. Guilt niggles at the back of my mind, but not enough to stop me. I will get us back. This is the best way. I don't have a choice. One nips my finger. The other's paw lands on my wrist and rests there.

Damn it.

"Jim?" Bones, at the mouth of the cave, soaked and shivering. "Are you okay in there?"

_Not really_. _But even you don't get to know I'm feeling bad over leaving these little guys alone for a while._

"Yeah, Bones, I'm coming." I pick up on kit and drop him on top of the one that had put a paw on my wrist. They begin to tussle instantly, and I take the advantage to slip out.

The rain and wind snatch my breath from me almost instantly. I'm drenched within minutes, my arm singing with pain at the rain's harsh pounding. I double over it protectively. Bones's hand is on my back, his mouth near my ear to hear each other over the rain. I force myself up after a moment, taking stock. Where are my men?

McCoy, at my shoulder, of course. Spock just a few feet away, watching us, one arm wrapped around his midsection. He looks as miserable as I've ever seen him look, but okay. For now, he's okay.

"Spock and I are going to get you up there first." Bones says. I laugh, now, at the idea of us trying to make our way _anywhere_ in this; maybe it was a good thing I'd broken my arm. Kept me from making a stupid boneheaded mistake because I was impatient. No matter what the others say, that's exactly what it would have been.

How had she _heard_ humans coming?

"Jim! Alright?"

"Yeah, Bones-go ahead." I say, snapping out of my reverie. He nods at Spock and then two sets of hands are on me. One is slender and warmer then human hands; this close, the other is calloused and firm. Both lift me gently and I snag a handful of fur, dragging myself up with Spock and Bones pushing from below. My arm hits anyway and I bite back on a yell; rolling the rest of the way onto her back and laying there a moment, chest heaving, eyes closed.

There's a second warm touch, and Bones's voice, soft and concerned, in my ear; "Hang in there, Jim."

"I'm okay." I rasp, forcing myself to sit up as Bones reaches down to half-pull Spock up as well. When Spock is settled on the back, Bones wraps his arms around me- when did I start swaying? - To hold me steady and with a rumble from the beast under us, we begin to move.

And move.

Faster. And faster.

Bones has gone stiff, curled half forward in his attempt to hold me and himself on- his hands are buried deep in her fur just inside of my vision. We slip precariously on her wet, oily fur, me gripping her nape with my good hand, Bones clinging to her and me, Spock holding Bones and a handful of fur. The world wizzes by as we half-run down the hill, tree and branches whipping at us- I hear someone, probably Bones, give a soft cry, and the smell of blood tinges my nostrils. He swears loudly so I know he's alright, and ducks even closer.

"Spock, stay low!" He warns, pushing my own head forward firmly, almost man-handling me. Just like Bones to find that out the hard way. Rocks and rubble give under her feet as we finally come to level ground, and the sprint gains even more speed, snatching air from me and whipping wind against my face. Her breath rasps with each step, vibrating through our bodies, and if I wasn't in so much pain this would be one hell of a ride. I find myself laughing at the sheer speed, the _intensity_ of the movement, graceful and powerful. I haven't felt this since I was last on horseback. And this beast puts any equine to shame.

"Have you lost your mind?" Bones roars from behind me, and it makes me laugh harder.

"A long time ago, Bones!" I call back, and if he replies I don't hear it.

I'm sure he replied, though, and I'm sure it wasn't anything kind-hearted.

And then, abruptly, we stop.

So abruptly, in fact, that I'm pitched forward, McCoy slams into my back, and Spock only just stops himself knocking us all off overboard. My laughter is gone as fast as it came as my arm impacts with my chest and the jarring stop shocks me up my shoulder through my entire body.

"_Shit_!" I gasp out, and feel my hand loose its grip on her fur. McCoy grabs me around the waist again, tugs me back against his chest. My world fogs uneasily, misting up at the edges, and I know without a doubt I am about to pass out. Reality is becoming soft and dull, and my heartbeat is loud in my ears.

"Whoa, Jim, easy, hang in there." Bones murmurs in my ear. I can hear a voice, now, in the distance, a familiar one. My head jerks up, as Spock hits the ground lightly and responds, his deep bass voice raised just enough to carry.

"Mr. Sulu, we are here." I swear, Spock is the only man I know who can yell without yelling. "Please do not panic or fire on the creature you will see."

Yes, please don't, that would _hurt_.

"Mr. Spock? Here!" He calls back to someone, and behind me Bones is shifting. "Can you get down, Jim?"

"Yeah." I say, though I might be lying, "So long as I don't have to jump."

"Wait up there, then, for now."

"Panic or fire on the-oh!" Uhura's voice, which surprises me somewhat. She comes into view a minute later, her eyes wide and hand over her mouth.

"On this, lieutenant." I drawl, giving her a lopsided smile. She stares, delight and fear mixing in her eyes. Sulu appears by her side, instantly pushes her back. "It's alright, Sulu, she's peaceful. And very helpful." I say. "But I'd like to get down, now?..."

Before the suggestion can be made to get a human chain to get me down, I'm suddenly aware of her shifting, dropping to first her knees, then all the way flat. My stomach jumps somewhere in the vicinity of my tongue and I hold on for the ride as she rolls lazily onto her side.

"You could have done that before." Bones grouses, as he, Sulu, and Spock form a ring around me. She rumbles her disapproval and pins her big ears at him. I swing my leg off and let him steady me, looking at the rest of the search party. No one else is daring to get this close. "She's peaceful," I say again, "and intelligent. She's called a Tejjion; we were her unexpected guests, for a time."

"She's beautiful." Uhura whispers, and if the words are not understood, the concept is conveyed all the same. Our momma lifts her ears again and takes a step forward, extending her muzzle to Uhura. Uhura lets out another breathy 'oh!' as she is sniffed, but she's laughing.

"You're hurt, Jim." McCoy reminds softly, from my left.

I nod; he's right. She needs to get back and I want- need- to get us back to the ship. "Spock, can you thank-"

"I believe she more then understands your gratitude, Captain." Spock interrupts me almost gently. Then I realize it's not gentleness I'm hearing; it's exhaustion. And if it's audible even in Spock's voice, then we are far past our time to leave.

"Can we go now?" Sulu asks. "I'm soaked!"

"We're all soaked! How did you get down here?" Bones replies, as I pat the creature farewell and allow him to gather me inside the circle of rescue party.

"Very carefully!" Sulu replies laughingly, and begins to explain. Over the sound of his voice, I hear a low rumble like thunder, and when I glance over my shoulder, she is gone.

_Good-bye to you, too, momma. _ _Be safe._

_

* * *

_

_Silly little small ones. So fragile. _

_The mother Tejjion listened bemusedly as the small, delicate creatures left, getting into the loud roaring thing that had brought them. She nuzzled her kits, who were contendly romping at her feet. _

_The small ones had names. She remembered them; Spock, Jim-Captain-Kirk (she wasn't sure about that small one, it seemed to have many names), and Bones-McCoy-Doctor (another small one with many names.) Considering, she cocked her head at her kits. _

_It was decided, she thought with a nod. She would name her kits after the very unique outsiders she had discovered. She made a low, cooing noise, and her Sp'k, Coi, and Gem came to her, curled against her side and began to purr. That left only one. The pretty lady that had called her 'beautiful'. (The small ones had not thought she could understand them, to a point, and the tallest small one had not told them.) Her name had been….lieutenant? Odd name, but no matter. She cooed again, and little Lit'ant came as well, and they are asleep in moments. _

_With a contended sigh, so was she. _

_It had been a very long day. _


End file.
